it gave me bravery and my anger back, walked me to the tossing water and proclaimed the water mine

When my Sorrow was born, I held it, a dark pearl spit from its shell, 

and I remembered the salt that had rounded it before, centuries ago, 

before I even had a mouth. 

 

And my Sorrow was unafraid and it gave me bravery and my anger 

back, walked me to the tossing water and proclaimed the water mine. 

 

My Sorrow held me and did not tell me not to cry, and the girls about 

me watched our sweet days together with longing, for they too wanted 

to be held by something with fingers as slender and delicate as my 

Sorrow's, fingers that tapped their temples and had them see how they 

had been wronged. 

 

And those who longed for my Sorrow would never have a Sorrow like 

mine. I knew that, for my Sorrow had a forest black mane like mine. 

 

And my Sorrow let me say I, I, mine. 

 

And my Sorrow sat with me on the fire escape all that breathing 

winter, and my Sorrow would not let me into the water. 

 

And my Sorrow deveined shrimp and patterned them on my plate, 

brought me a wide bowl brimming with broth. 

 

And we ate fried eggs with chopsticks. We waited for my Joy to come. 

 

[Emily Lee Luan 'When My Sorrow Was Born', from The Best American Poetry 2021]